


Moonlit conversation

by WordOfAll



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordOfAll/pseuds/WordOfAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shot. I have tried to stay true to Mofftiss canon, but I don´t know if I succeeded. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlit conversation

He is back.

Sherlock has come back to England, traveling by a ferry no doubt, as he always loved the sea and there was little danger of being recognized now. People passed their judgment over the so-called "fraud" and then forgot him. It was more than a year now and the few people who would be able to discover the identity of this gaunt young men were far from the ship in London.

But he has not come to John yet. His first steps in London after fourteen months and he goes straight to Mycroft´s lodgings. He would have liked the idea that perhaps his little brother came to see _him_. That perhaps Sherlock sought to see his aging brother first, before the frenzy starts and the returned detective will not be free from clasps of army doctors, angry policemen and shaken housekeepers for a very long time.

But deep down, Mycroft knows this is nonsense. Sherlock has come - so Sherlock needs something. It is always like this.

Perhaps Mycroft was at fault at this. He always tried to help Sherlock as best he could, and always ended up doing thing Sherlock hated, things _he himself_ abhorred. Perhaps he should have acted differently when his little brother was doing drugs. But... if he didn´t force Sherlock to go rehab, and then again, and again... he just hoped deep down that these few breaks in Sherlock´s "little habit" were the thing that bought his sibling time - to meet Lestrade, and Mrs Hudson... and John. Mycroft tried to believe that at least something good came from those arguments, that the relationship between the Holmes brothers was the price to pay for Sherlock´s life.

"Mycroft." He enunciated the T forcibly - he always had this habit as a child, could not stand the thought of not saying his big brother´s name properly.

"Sherlock." Good. Now you have proven you did not, indeed, forget each other´s names. "You are back," he said lamely.

A torrent of information follows. How he needs to make sure John is all right. That there might be a sniper lurking around.

Well, of course John is - at least physically - all right. He would have never allowed anything to happen to the good doctor. There were a few men of such quality nowadays. Mycroft would have welcome the opportunity to come to know the ex-soldier better, but first there was Sherlock, who would hardly appreciate Mycroft´s involvement, and then John thought (not entirely mistakenly) that Mycroft caused Sherlock´s death. Not much chance to invite the good doctor for a dinner and enjoy the quiet air of loyalty, reliability and _caring_ John emanated.

He agrees. Of course Mycroft agrees to any stupid plan Sherlock has - after this last stunt about Sherlock´s death the line Mycroft would never cross virtually stopped existing.

It is scary. Years of hurt, and resentment, and before that, years of feeling inadequate to take care of the sweet, beautiful creature his brother used to be... he should hate this man, who will always be _his responsibility_ until Mycroft dies. And maybe he does, a little.

But if right now he had a choice between his life and Sherlock´s, he would _still_ bargain his existence for that idiot of a man child. He often wondered if this was the worshiped _love_. He was not sure.

And, unlike Sherlock, he had no John to ask.

Well then, time to take care of Mr Moran.

* * *

"Mycroft."

"Sherlock. You are back."

"Obviously. How is John? Have you seen him?"

"Well enough, all things considered."

"Have you talked to him?"

"There was nothing to talk about. I rather think it was merely the presence of your DI which spared me a black eye at your funeral. Do you want some tea?"

"I want some of your men. He is in danger."

"How?"

"Sebastian Moran. Sniper, ex- army officer. Moriarty´s second in command and one of the few criminals to have some grey brain cells. Knows I´m alive, wants me dead."

"Is he the last one?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"... you look..."

"...what?"

"Nothing. I´ll use the spare bedroom."

"Sleep well."


End file.
